The doctor stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Would you like me to examine you? Just to be sure?”
Dorothea waved a gloved hand in gentle dismissal. “Heavens, no, Doctor. It is merely the chill in the air or a passing tickle. I wouldn’t dream of troubling you over a trifling cold.”
Doctor Langley moved to a modest chest of drawers near the wall. He opened one and removed a small glass bottle filled with a white powder. “If you change your mind, this might at least help you rest more comfortably tonight.” He approached her and extended the bottle. “A mild dose of laudanum. Enough for a few nights, should the symptoms worsen.”
Dorothea accepted it with a grateful smile. “You are very kind, Doctor Langley. Thank you.”
Tabitha let out a wide yawn and quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth, her cheeks coloring. “Pardon me.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Dorothea assured her. “You need rest more than anything right now. We’ll come again tomorrow.”
At that, Tristan jumped down from the bed with a burst of energy, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Lord Warwicke said I could ride a pony today!”
Tabitha blinked in surprise. “A pony?”
“Yes!” he beamed. “I’ve never even touched one before, let alone ridden! Do you think I’ll be good at it?”
A smile spread across Tabitha’s tired face. “I do,” she replied.
Tristan flung his arms around her again in a quick, tight embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mum!” Then he turned and practically skipped towards the door.
Dorothea moved to follow, but before she could step away, Tabitha reached out and caught her hand.
“You and your husband…” she began, her voice trembling, “you’re a godsend, my lady. I wouldn’t be alive if Lord Warwicke hadn’t found me in that alleyway.”
Dorothea gently wrapped her fingers over Tabitha’s. “I’m grateful he did. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Tabitha’s gaze shifted towards her son, who was now standing with Doctor Langley, inspecting a pair of forceps with fascination. “I haven’t seen him this happy since before his father died.”
“Tristan is a remarkable boy,” Dorothea said, her voice warm. “There’s a quiet strength in him.”
Tabitha nodded, her voice barely audible. “He’s all I have. I stopped eating so he would have enough.”
Dorothea’s heart clenched. She gave Tabitha’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t have to make that kind ofsacrifice again. There will be plenty of food at our townhouse for both of you.”
A tear slipped down Tabitha’s cheek as she slowly withdrew her hand. “I promise I’ll work hard. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Dorothea replied. “But more than that, I want you well again—for Tristan’s sake. He needs his mother strong and whole.”
Tabitha moved to lay her head down onto the pillow. “I would do anything for my son,” she murmured.
Dorothea offered her a parting smile before she lifted her lace-edged handkerchief again and dabbed at her nose. The dull ache of congestion pressed just behind her eyes. She had little doubt that a few hours of sleep would surely chase away whatever cold threatened to take hold.
Dominic stepped down from his coach, his boots crunching against the gravel drive as he looked up at the grand façade of his townhouse. The afternoon sun caught on the windows and cast golden reflections across the red brick, and still—despite having lived there for several months—it didn’t feel real.
The townhouse was his. Every polished brick and slate tile bought with coin he’d earned, not inherited.
He tightened his grip on his gloves, a flicker of disbelief still clinging to him. His father had owned estates like this. More than one. But Dominic had never expected to possess one himself. He had walked away from a fortune and a name to carve his own path. His father had called him a disgrace for becoming a Bow Street Runner, for daring to work among the commonrabble. To earn a wage was, in his father’s mind, a stain on the family name.
Dominic’s jaw tensed. He hadn’t left for pride but to save his mother. He had planned to return for her, to give her a better life. But time had stolen the chance. Illness had come swiftly and silently. By the time he received word, both his parents were gone. He hadn’t even had a moment to say goodbye. At least—not to his mother. He felt no sorrow for his father’s passing. The man had inflicted too many wounds, both seen and unseen. But his mother had deserved so much more.
The front door swung open as he approached, and Wright greeted him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
Dominic removed his hat and handed it over, brushing a bit of dust from his coat sleeve. “I’d like to be alone. There’s work I must attend to.”
“Of course, my lord. But I should inform you that Lady Warwicke’s trunks have arrived, and her mare was delivered to the stables just over an hour ago.”
Dominic lifted a brow. “Is she aware of this?”
